


A Hairy Situation

by illictic



Series: 2nd Place Divinity's Reach Fanciest Fanfiction [2]
Category: Guild Wars, Guild Wars 2
Genre: F/M, Other, TW: Suicide, a fast downward spiral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illictic/pseuds/illictic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Jennah is wondering if Logan is doing something different with his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hairy Situation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foppishaplomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foppishaplomb/gifts).



            “Your hair is different today,” the Queen said, looking down at her lusciously-maned bodyguard. “A slightly different shade, perhaps?”

            “Your Majesty.” Logan put a gloved hand to his hair, running his fingers through it carefully. “I guess it is a little different.”

            “No matter.” Queen Jennah twirled around and looked over to Countess Anise. “What is it that you wanted to tell Logan, Countess?”

            Logan looked over at Anise with curious eyes, but he had his mind in other places. She opened her mouth to give Logan an order, and her lips mouthed various words, but he didn’t hear any of them. _Different hair? I wonder what it looks like._ He nodded at Anise, growing more and more aware of every single strand of hair on his scalp. As she spoke, his hair seemed to gain weight, and it grew heavy on his head. Soon, he felt himself running his hands through his hair in an attempt to alleviate the sensation.

            “…and I heard someone called the Seraph in to handle a bar fight the other day.” Countess Anise held her dainty hands on her hips. She looked to Logan for an answer to her request, but he didn’t move. “Captain Thackeray?”

            He shook, moving out of his trance. “Y-yes. There _was_ a bar fight. We handled it. What did you need, Countess?”

            Both the Queen and the Countess sighed. They looked to each other for a moment, but only Anise turned back. “Are you certain you can handle being captain of the Seraph, Thackeray?”

            He stepped back, his metal boots hitting hard on the ground and echoing through the courtyard. Drawing more attention to himself than necessary, he stuttered a response. “Of course I am. I-I’m more capable than anyone. You’re aware of that.”

            “Of course.” Her voice hung low in the air for seemingly eons afterward. The Queen walked over to her and nudged her. Taking the cue, she straightened her spine and looked at Logan, biting the inside of her cheek as she spoke. “I think that we will put this task aside for now. It’s late, don’t you think?”

            Logan looked up into the clear blue sky. “I guess.”

            “Perhaps you should head home, Logan. We will take this elsewhere.”

            Logan nodded briefly, his glazed eyes watching the Queen’s curves as he moved past her and started walking home. The air in the courtyard blew through his brown locks. Feeling the wind through his hair, the Queen’s earlier comment resurfaced in his mind. _What is different about my hair?_ He walked past the cultural armor vendors, and watched his reflection in the great glass aquariums. Intrigued, he walked forward and put a hand to the glass. His other hand sifted through his hair, pulling it back from his forehead. Each hair flowed like water beneath his fingertips. He removed a gauntlet, flexing his fingers momentarily, then felt his hair again. Under his skin, it was soft, as though his hair was simply a new paintbrush. He shook his hair out and went through his hair one last time, pulling it entirely away from his face.

            No. He looked the same. He…he did, right? After removing his hand, he let his hair fall around his face. _Maybe I should get a headband._ He turned away from his reflection and walked straight home, falling face-first into his bed without removing his heavy armor.

 

            Logan awoke a few hours later, covered in sweat. Anguished, he removed his armor and decided to bathe himself. Stepping into the tub, he splashed water over his head, letting it roam through each individual strand of chestnut hair. It clung to his head like fine silk. Putting a small amount of shampoo into the palm of his hand, he went over it again, allowing it to create a small foam before splashing water over it a second time. He looked to his right, where he kept a variety of hairbands, and pushed his wet hair back out of his face. He thought to sit around in it and allow it to dry before he met the Queen again.

            Before he could step out of the tub, a loud knock came at his door. He ran to the door, almost entirely naked, and opened it to reveal a small man. He looked over at Logan, and Logan felt the little man’s eyes on his hair a bit longer than he wanted them to be there. What on Tyria was wrong with his hair? “The Queen…is requesting your presence.” He bowed his head and turned away very quietly, bright red blush forming on his cheeks before he could even fully turn around. Logan stumbled back into his house, ignoring his wet hair as he slid into his sweaty uniform. He marched back outside and headed straight for the palace. Along the way, his hair dried enough to be just slightly damp. He waltzed right into the palace doors and headed for her room.

            In the throne room, Queen Jennah stood alone. Logan gulped, his face burning, his hair heavy on his head. He walked towards her, biting his lips as he moved forwards. She rose from her throne once he got close.

            “Logan.” He peered at her, and nodded with furrowed eyebrows. “Earlier, Countess Anise wanted you to speak to the Hair of Shaemoor.”

            “The…Hair of Shaemoor, Your Majesty?”

            “Hero, Logan. She wanted you to speak to the Hero of Shaemoor.” She put one hand on her hip. “Now, the Hero was having a problem speaking to an Order of Whisphair representative. They requested to see you.”

            “There’s…Whisphair?”

            “Captain Thackeray, this might be more serious than we thought. Listen closely.” She moved closer to him. “They want to perform an operation in the Brisband Hairlands. It involves speaking to a group of hair and hair, and eventually moving forward to hairy. Do you understand? This could help us succeed in keeping the Risen far from Divinity’s Hair. We would---“

            “Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What’s wrong with my hair?”

            She glared at him. “Be serious, Hairgan. This is—“

            “By the Six. I can’t—I just can’t do this right now, Jennah.” He backed away. “Please. Let Anise handle this. I—I have to fix my hair.”

            “Logan Thackeray! What is wrong with you today?”

            “My hair must be pristine. For the Queen.” He walked out of the throne room, completely ignoring Queen Jennah’s protests. She sat on her throne, and eyed him as he took a step out of the room, still-wet hair glistening in the setting sun.

 

            Three days had gone by since Logan left his house. Every few hours, he checked his mirror, picking apart every strand of hair for flaws. Soon, it devolved into minutes, and before he knew it he found himself standing in front of his mirror for the entire day, watching his hair near constantly, ignoring those that came knocking at his door. He walked to the bath and brought his mirror with him, never letting his eyes wander from his reflection. It was time to wash his hair again, after all.

            He took an empty bucket and held it in his shaking hands. He turned it over on top of his head and closed his eyes as he felt the waves of water crashing down around him. The room was filling with water, and his hair floated majestically in the sea. But it was not clean enough. Holding his breath, he swam towards the table and emptied the shampoo bottle into his hand. The shampoo flooded the sea and mingled to create a thick foam. He swam gracefully, his mirror multiplying until his walls were covered in mirrors. He watched himself in every reflection, his hair growing in length until it became too heavy for his head and he sunk to the bottom. He fell asleep at the bottom of the ocean.

            He woke, and looked to his shampoo bottle. It was empty, and placed neatly in the middle of a puddle of shampoo. Three empty buckets aligned the wall, and his body was slathered with various soaps. Dazed, he looked down and saw a small bleeding cut on his leg. Below it, he had written “PRISTINE FOR THE QUEEN” in his own blood. It was very light and faded, but it was there. He searched for his mirror, which was placed neatly in front of him. His teeny weenie peered at him from his reflection, but more importantly, he found his hair fallen to the floor.

            Logan bellowed out a hair-raising scream. In his shock, he had hit his leg against a pair of scissors. He didn’t even know he had those. He didn’t even know he was bald! He felt his scalp and shivered, and began to softly cry. He rocked himself back and forth in his tub, the cut on his leg bleeding less and less as he did. He  fell backwards and hit his head on the side of the tub, and wept himself into a deep slumber.

 

 

            Logan awoke in the Salma District hospital. A priestess watched over him with wide eyes. “He’s awake,” she murmured, and then ran out of his sight.  Coming closer to him was Queen Jennah. She looked down at him, concerned.

            “Logan Thackeray, are you alright?” A single tear fell from her eye. “My love…You forgot your hair.” She held up a dead rat, and Logan vomited and fell asleep.

            He woke again, and bolted out of the hospital bed. Did…the Queen really give me a dead rat? He felt a pair of hands push him gently back into bed, and he turned to see the obstruction. It was Countess Anise. She whispered words to him, but he only heard over and over the word “Hair” and he began to cry. She ran a hand over his choppily-cut hair, sad eyes meeting his. She mouthed “go to sleep” but the only word Logan heard was “hair”. His tears came harder and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the loss of hair on his head.

            Once more, he woke, and this time he peered over to look for the priest that he had seen before. He didn’t want the Queen to see him in his disheveled state. The walls around him were covered in brown paint, as brown as his hair, and he felt himself cringe as he looked around the brown room. There was even a flowing pattern painted on that looked very much like hair…He closed his eyes and whispered, “Grenth, take me now.”

            A deep scuffle came from his side. “Do you mean that, Logan?” To his surprise, Rytlock had come to see him, and he had carried a knife. “I will kill you if that is what you really want.”

            Logan turned over. “I can’t ever face the Queen again. Without my hair, I am nothing.” Rytlock smirked, his enormous teeth making his mouth bigger than it already was. The charr’s mane flowed behind him, the fur on his back and arms rustling ever so subtly as he moved.

            He put the knife to Logan’s neck and breathed on his face. “I’ll put you out of your misery, Thackeray,” he whispered, and with one precise strike he slit Logan’s neck.

           

            Logan’s hand fell back, knife enclosed in his fist, the hospital room empty. Footsteps came quickly up the stairs to his room, and the sound of dresses and boots slithering across the floor stopped just as Countess Anise and Queen Jennah froze. The loud silence was broken with a garbled, pained “Oh, no. Please…tell me that he was murdered. Tell me this wasn’t a suicide, Anise.”

            Anise narrowed her eyes, swallowing, moving closer to the corpse. “It looks like Logan did this to himself. Your Majesty, it’s been a week and he hadn’t moved from his spot. I suppose he won’t be moving again.”

            Queen Jennah walked forward. She put a shaky hand to his chiseled jaw, his hair still messily cut too close to his head. His pale blue lips were slightly parted, and his eyes looked back up at the Queen, his eyebrows stuck permanently in an expression of defeat. She bit her lip. “Anise, we must call the Seraph. We appear to have…” She swallowed again, pausing to sniff and bring her arms to her chest. Her eyes looked down at Logan for a moment before she moved them to stare at Anise. She opened her mouth again, and fighting her drying throat, she finished her sentence.

            “…a hairy situation.”


End file.
